


News at 11

by GabrielLives



Series: Non-Gabriel Richard Speight Jr Bingo [3]
Category: Supernatural, The Hillywood Show (Web Series)
Genre: Crack, Gen, Ghosts, I Don't Even Know, author insert, oh lord such crack, there isnt a good way to tag this thing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-08-17
Updated: 2019-08-17
Packaged: 2020-09-05 20:11:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 770
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20279131
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GabrielLives/pseuds/GabrielLives
Summary: A struggling author was running low on ideas, but suddenly had a light bulb moment. You wont believe what happens next.Written for Non-Gabriel Richard Speight Jr bingo, Square filled: Non action guy with T. Rickster





	News at 11

**Author's Note:**

> So, this damn stupid idea came to me while I was at work, and I thought it was great, so damn right I wrote it. It’s just as ridiculous as I imagined and I like it. Whether or not you guys think it’s funny too is yet to be seen.

The darkened studio was abuzz with the murmurs of workers, talking into their headsets and checking camera equipment. Soon they were shushing each other, the low lights dimming further and everyone settled into their roles as the show got on the road. 

A sweeping opening chorus played, the spotlight coming up on a handsome man behind an impressive desk as the cameras zoomed in. He gave the audience a playful bounce of his brows and a devastating smile, then began reading from his teleprompter.

“Hello out there. I'm T. Rickster, and this is the news for you. Today I'm helping Tumblr user @archangelgabriellives cheat on her Non-Gabriel bingo card. This writing challenge on the blogging website has...” A noise in his earpiece caught his attention. “Hmm? Oh excuse me for one second,” he said as he raised a hand to his ear. “...mmm hmmm… I see. Well,” he paused, “I'm T. Rickster and my mods have informed me that I'm  _ not _ helping Tumblr user @archangelgabriellives cheat at her bingo card.” T. tapped and straightened his blank papers on his desk, awkwardly pausing and staring into the camera. “No sir. Not cheating at all.”

His smile was tight and fake, plastered in place as he slowly swiveled in his chair to camera two.

"And we have the distinct honor of having the author that I am not _ not  _ helping cheat in the studio this evening. Welcome to the show, @archangelgabriellives."

The author sat nervously in the guest chair, stiffly waving and looking like she'd rather not be there.

"Please don't look directly at the camera," T. whispered as he leaned a little closer.

The author blushed and scrunched her shoulders in apology. "Thanks for having me here. It's an honor. Um, I like your tie." She blushed even deeper.

"Thanks, it's a selfie." T. looked genuinely happy about the compliment, waving the cherub splattered tie between his fingers. "So," he said as he smoothed the fabric back down, "what gives you the  _ balls  _ to write a blatant self insert, slow pitch of a fic like this?"

"Oh...well…"

Before she could go on, a crash blasted its way through the studio. P.A.’s and important people with clipboards scrambled, screaming as they avoided the falling rubble. Over the yelling and clatter, a dark and horrible wailing rose up. Hordes of ghosts flooded in, grabbing what or who ever they could and sending them flying. 

Huddled under the desk, T. and the author hid from view, wide eyed and silent. 

“So…this happen often?” the author finally asked, horrified as a table from craft services slammed into the wall.

“You might be surprised,” T. groused, kicking away some drywall. “Just count yourself lucky that I wore pants today.”

“Please tell me you have a match for that tie.”

“Ha! Save it for the bedroom, girl. We need to get the hell out of here.”

“Can’t you do something? You said this has happened before.”

“What?! I’m a reporter,” T. scoffed. “I get my makeup done with the softest brushes and sip my fair trade, hand picked coffee in the most comfortable chair you can imagine. I don't fight ghosts. We have people who handle that.”

“My chair wasn't that comfy,” she griped.

“Yeah, ‘cause it’s damn expensive. They could only afford the one.” Waiting for a trio of raucous ghosts to move away from the desk, T. carefully reached a hand up and over the top, coming back with a rotary phone.  _ “Fight ghosts,” _ he muttered under the clicking of dialing numbers. “No thank you.”

“Who are you calling?”

Pausing mid dial, T.’s eyes narrowed as he turned.

“Look, if you're gonna be here you gotta do the line right.”

“Oops, sorry,” she whispered, clearing her voice before she spoke again. “Who ya gonna call?”

There was a  _ bang _ , and the room went silent. Ghost and humans alike stared in awe as a dense fog rolled in through the busted door. Through the rolling clouds, two men entered, dressed for battle with the undead. 

“Oh, are you  _ serious _ right now?” T. yelled as he pushed his way over to the taller of the men. “I see how it is, Sam. You can't call me back after one date, but you come running for a tiny ghost explosion?”

“Oh my god,  _ you  _ called it in?” Sam yelled. “And why the hell would I ever call you back? Terrance, you jumped in the lobster tank!” 

“You laughed when Tom Hardy did it!”

The author could only stand to the side, deeply regretting coming here in the first place.

“Cut the camera, Bob-o!” 


End file.
